


Charging Extra For An Extra Recharge

by Mirror_ball



Category: Mewgulf, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Ambiguity, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, gulf is having trouble not acknowledging that, mew is being an absolute sweetheart, they're both whipped but just confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirror_ball/pseuds/Mirror_ball
Summary: Albeit tired, Mew showers Gulf with gestures of affection throughout the Urban Decay live. Gulf knows exactly what it means—Mew is in need of a recharge, and Gulf is there to deliver.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 18
Kudos: 182





	Charging Extra For An Extra Recharge

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired entirely by the delightful happenings of the (already legendary, I guess) UD football date live. It left me so soft and fuzzy that I just needed to transfer my feelings into _something_. Hope you enjoy!

Mew hoists him up. 

It’s not uncommon for him to do so, obviously, even if it’s been a while since it last happened, and there wouldn’t be anything particularly odd about it if they weren’t right in the middle of a (rather poor, admittedly) football game. As players, no less. But they are, and Gulf should be busy kicking the ball rather than helplessly kicking the air with his feet hovering a good half a meter over the artificial grass. Mew’s arms around his middle hold him tight, so much so, in fact, that it vaguely hurts as they squeeze his tummy, and he grasps at them on impulse in a half-hearted attempt to urge Mew to let go. He doesn’t, for a good while.

When he finally puts him down, Gulf finds himself grinning so wide he can tell his gums are showing. This is definitely not how you play football, and Gulf thinks he should be at least lowkey irked by Mew’s flippant attitude toward his favorite sport. The thing is, though, that the lift was, uh, kind of cute. So instead, he just keeps smiling.

***

Well, this is getting pretty ridiculous because, lo and behold, he’s in the air again. This time, it’s with Mew’s arms secured around his ass for a change. Gulf wants to push against his shoulders reproachfully, he really does, but then Mew dissolves into a fit of giggles while staggering toward the ball across the mini-pitch, and all Gulf can do is curl his hands around Mew’s biceps, throw his head back, and join in on the laughing. Sometimes he wonders how on earth Mew is the older of the two.

It’s only when his left foot comes back into contact with the ground that the self-consciousness sets in, announced by his trademark _hoho_ chuckle of awkwardness. He just suddenly remembers teaching Mew how to play football wasn’t supposed to look like that. But when he feels Mew’s arm linger a little longer than necessary where it’s wrapped loosely around his waist, he concludes he doesn’t mind that at all.  


***

Alright, so maybe he did go a little bit overboard with the pleading. Maybe crouching down and clinging onto Mew’s leg like a damn koala wasn’t the way to go. He might have gotten a tad carried away there for whatever reason, he’ll admit that. Still, can it really be considered enough to grant him the reaction it did?

Because he’s being picked up again, quite effortlessly, and in no time at all, he finds himself entirely supported by the strength of Mew’s arms, feet back in the air as he’s carried, bridal style this time, off the set. He doesn’t even have the slightest intention to protest at this point. And why would he, anyway? Surely not due to the thousands of people currently watching him being manhandled by his phi however he pleases. Surely that’s not reason enough.

Even when his feet meet the ground, he’s still pressed into Mew’s side with an arm curled around him and a hand clamped down on his hip. Mew’s being very clingy, Gulf reckons, almost overly so. He must be in need of an extra recharge today. Maybe when before the live he said, “I’m just tired, ’tis nothing,” Gulf should have known better than to take it at face value; maybe he should have prodded some more. Come to think of it, Mew hasn’t had a day off since forever—not that Gulf’s vacation situation looks any better—so he was bound to feel worn down eventually. It’s still quite admirable, Gulf muses, how energetic he acts despite being obviously sleep deprived, if those dark circles under his eyes, conveniently covered by a thick layer of concealer, are anything to go by. Perhaps by offering him a recharge, Gulf will not be able to get him fully back on his feet, but it sure as hell won’t hurt to try.

So when the arm around him tightens as Mew pulls him in that much closer, he accepts the gesture without a second thought.

***

Mew’s hand alternates between hanging loosely off the back of the sofa and affectionately squeezing Gulf’s upper arm. It’s familiar, this position they automatically settled into upon taking a seat, it’s comfortable and more welcome than Gulf would ever be willing to admit. It’s also something he takes for granted—semi-consciously at best and in spite of himself, but he does. 

What he also takes for granted is the way Mew smiles at him with unadulterated fondness mixed with ill-concealed satisfaction as he slots his fingers in between Gulf’s. Quite predictably, it only earns them more teasing from both Mild and Kaownah, but Gulf’s entire focus is on how nicely Mew’s hand fits against his own instead. 

He shakes this thought away the moment he realizes what the implications might be. Thankfully, it’s not long before Mew displays an urgent need to gesticulate, and for that he apparently needs both his hands.

***

Concert? Did he just hear, concert? Why are they talking about concerts all of a sudden?

Mew’s hand is at the back oh his head, gently ruffling his hair for what feels like the umpteenth time today, and Gulf wonders what he did to bring this reaction out of Mew again. Is his confusion that evident? Is it that… endearing? How much of it is just Mew trying to cater for the fans’ needs and manage their expectations?

“Gulf told me once he has never been to a real concert.”

Which is true, sure, and he confirms it with a nod, but why does the disclosure of this simple fact need to be accompanied by the ear rubs? Not that Gulf minds. But really, why?

Mild seems to be just as curious, only he actually verbalizes it, and Mew retracts his hand and leaves Gulf’s ear alone. Regrettably, as Gulf admits to himself.

Otherwise unbothered, Mew continues, “So today I prepared a surprise concert for him.”

“What do you mean by a concert, phi?” Gulf’s confusion starts to morph into budding anxiety as he turns a perplexed gaze on Mew.

“You’ll see,” Mew promises with a complacent smirk, then adds, “I love this band. We’ve also sung their songs many times before.”

Is it supposed to be a joke? Is he being pranked? Hidden camera where? Oh, right, there are plenty here, none of them hidden very well. Huh. What is this all about?

He shoots Mew another look, one that he hopes doesn’t border on a glare, and watches his smirk stretch into a full-on grin. He’s clearly enjoying himself.

And in all truth, Gulf genuinely hopes he is.

***

Gulf has barely just recovered from the shock of seeing Lipta so up close when the cursed question is asked.

He turns his head toward Mew just in time to see him do the same. Their gazes meet in a silent enquiry, almost as if either one of them was expecting to read a brand new answer in the other’s eyes. Different from the one that always tastes so bitter on Gulf’s tongue.

“We’re phi-nong,” Mew eventually breaks both the silence and their eye contact. It never fails to take Gulf by surprise just how underprepared he is to hear these words, even if he utters them virtually on a day-to-day basis himself. At least this time around, he didn’t have to be the one to choke them out first. This time around, he wasn’t the one making the choice. 

(Not that there’s ever been any choice to make in the first place.)

***

P’Tan and P’Cutto are evidently trying to tease them into pecking each other’s cheeks, and Gulf is lowkey mortified. Should he cave in? Would it be disrespectful to refuse this request? Was Mew even aware that his would happen? 

He hopes they’ll eventually be able to laugh it off and move on but the duo won’t stop pushing. So, when P’Cutto goes as far as kissing P’Tan on the cheek just to make a point, Gulf eventually thinks, to hell with it, brings his face close to Mew’s cheek, and puts a palm in front of his lips to cover the faux kiss.

He really expects it to do the trick. What he doesn’t expect is for Mew to return the gesture not long after, only without the fake quality to it. It does catch him off guard, he will say that. So much so, in fact, that he turns his head toward Mew sharply, brows raised in utter bewilderment as he meets Mew’s gaze with his own. Then, in spite of himself, he straight-up beams. 

As he continues to laugh, his eyes taking the shape of little half-moons, and his grinning mouth—that of a heart, he tries his very best to ignore the phantom warmth of Mew’s lips, still lingering on the flushed skin of his cheek.

***

He knows he should be flinging himself into Mew’s arms the moment the dressing room door clicks shut behind them, he really does. Anyone would if they were just gifted with a surprise private concert of one of their favorite bands. The thing is, he’s not anyone, and he’s most certainly not the type to initiate grand gestures of affection. So, instead of looping his arms around Mew, he waits for him to wrap Gulf in an embrace instead, and then allows himself to lean back against him like he rarely does, hoping to convey his gratitude with the way he molds comfortably into the solid chest behind him, relaxed and, dare he say, content.

He shifts in Mew’s hold a tad so he can face him, like he did countless times while reacting to their aquarium date vlog, and there it is, the look Mew has been giving him all along, and it’s just so… it’s always so— yeah, no, he can’t find the right words for it. It’s like Mew’s telling him endless stories of undying love and devotion with that one little gaze alone, and boy, is that gaze getting harder and harder to ignore and play off as a harmless and apparently indispensable component of their well-worn phi-nong-who-love-each-other narrative.

Ah, but the warmth spreading across his chest sure feels nice now, he reckons.

“Recharge,” Mew says with a minute shrug, as if Gulf needed the clarification. He very nearly huffs.

“Why?” he asks instead, genuinely curious and a bit concerned. In lieu of answering, Mew pulls at him gently, and the next thing he knows he’s staggering backward along with him until Mew’s thighs meet the edge of the makeup desk. He leans the combined weight of their bodies against it, and only then do his muscles perceptively relax. “Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired,” Mew brings back his own words from before the live, and Gulf knows for a fact it’s not just the physical fatigue he’s referring to. He’s well aware of how much it takes out of Mew to be the way he is whenever they film together, to always keep his engagement (and skinship) level this high, to act like he has what he’s, in fact, not allowed to have. It must be hell. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not exactly heaven for Gulf, either.

“You should rest properly, phi,” he says like more sleep could take all this exhausting uncertainty away. Like it could remove the ambiguity. It can’t. It won’t. “You can’t carry on like this forever.” 

Neither of them can. And yet, neither seems to have a choice. Mew’s silent as he buries his face in the crook of Gulf’s neck and just breathes in. He stays still for a couple of heartbeats and when he finally speaks, his lips are brushing the side of Gulf’s throat, “I know.”

And maybe it’s the lack of defeat in his tone for a change, or the way his arms tighten around Gulf’s waist instead of letting go, or maybe that little something that feels vaguely like a barely-there kiss pressed gently to the base of his neck, but Gulf finds himself turning his head around, careful not to poke Mew’s eye with his chin in the process. As if on cue, Mew raises his head from Gulf’s shoulder, and their gazes reconnect.

“Hm?” He asks, _dares_ , bringing one of his hands up to cup the side of Gulf’s face, and the air around them suddenly turns oddly hot and heavy. Stifling. Gulf briefly thinks his self-restraint has its limits.

And what if he just—the craziest idea—what if he craned his neck and returned Mew’s peck from before properly, without faking it for once? What if he was confident enough? What if he accepted the unspoken dare?

He’s never bound to find out, though, because he’s not pecking anyone. He’s not, because it’s Mew who closes the distance between their faces with a single pull applied to Gulf’s jaw, and the press of his lips against Gulf’s can hardly be called a peck anyway. It’s too long for that, too insistent, yet still, paradoxically, somewhat unsure. 

“Huh,” Gulf says eloquently the moment Mew pulls away. It’s certainly not the type of development he saw coming. Neither is it one he dislikes.

Mew doesn’t apologize, doesn’t look regretful, doesn’t retreat. He waits, still and silent and, if Gulf’s not wrong, maybe even hopeful.

“That doesn’t seem like your regular recharge,” Gulf clears his throat eventually, cocking a brow at Mew with a faint trace of a smile. “So I guess it’s only fair that you should be charged extra.”

And with that, he lets their lips reunite.

**Author's Note:**

> If you need me, I'll be sobbing over tonight's TTTS episode on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mirror_b_a_l_l).


End file.
